The earth began to tremble, subtly at first, as if it were struggling to breathe, then with the intensity of a heart on the verge of exploding. Cracks split the stones around them, and the air grew heavy, charged with a dense and somber energy. For a moment, it seemed as if the world itself would split in two. But then, as if obeying a silent command, everything stopped abruptly.
From the center of that silence, a thick shadow emerged from the cracked ground. It stretched, writhing like living smoke, until it began to take form — a feminine silhouette shrouded in darkness. The shape solidified, revealing the figure of Hela, imposing and cold, with eyes that shone like eternal abysses.
"That was fast… I have to say, I'm surprised. It's stronger than I thought."
With slow steps, almost floating, she approached what was left of the guard — a twisted mass of flesh and bone covered in dried blood. Hela knelt with a look of disdain and touched the inert body with the tip of her fingers, as if evaluating the efficiency of death.
Uriel watched her in silence. His gaze was impassive, but his thoughts seethed. After a brief moment, he broke the silence with a hoarse and direct voice:
"Can you take me back?"
His tone was firm, without pleading or emotion, referring to the hidden place within the Realm of the Dead he had taken as his refuge — a patch of dark, forgotten land he had claimed as his own.
Hela raised an eyebrow, the smile on her lips curving into something between amusement and threat.
"Of course, you did what I asked… Who knows, maybe I'll need your help again? And you'll be there, won't you? Or… you know."
There was a subtle threat in her words, but she didn't need to shout. Hela did not fear Uriel. He was powerful, yes — but in her presence, a being with power comparable to Odin himself, Uriel was merely a valuable pawn. A useful wolf, but tamed… for now.
Uriel did not answer immediately. He merely stared at her with coldness, his gaze heavy as lead. Then, with a slight nod, he muttered:
"As you wish."
Empty words, spoken with the same apathy of someone signing a delayed sentence. Uriel didn't need to say more. Inside, he was merely waiting. Waiting for Hela to feel safe, invincible… so that, in the end, she would be caught off guard. That story was not over, and he would be the one to write the final chapter.
"Great." Hela raised her hands and clapped once.
In the next instant, a dense, pulsing darkness erupted around them, like a veil of living smoke. It enveloped them completely, swallowing the light, the sounds, the world. And then… nothingness.
When the darkness dissipated, Uriel was already back in his domain — the same territory he had claimed within the Realm of the Dead. The air there was static, suffocating, heavy with a supernatural stillness. But not for long.
Two figures approached with hurried steps: Eskandor and Ainz.
Eskandor was the first to speak, worry etched on his face like a poorly disguised mask. His eyes scanned every detail of Uriel's appearance — not out of concern for his life, but from a more selfish fear: what if Uriel's blood, his long-dreamed source of power, had been spilled? The very thought made him swallow hard.
"Majesty, are you alright?"
Close behind, Ainz stepped forward, his expression serious and focused.
"Master, did everything go well?"
Ainz was also worried, but for different reasons. He didn't think of power or rewards — he only wanted to know if Uriel was whole, if the mission had been completed, and if what was coming next wasn't worse than what had come before.
"Yes, return to your posts." Uriel's voice resonated with a calm authority, almost bored, while his single eye stared into the emptiness before him. His mind, however, was far away. He was thinking about the snow. That soft, cold snow that crunched beneath his feet like a familiar, icy carpet — infinitely more pleasant than stepping on those green, putrid lands corrupted by sick life.
Uriel hadn't moved from his place. He knew he didn't need to. He knew she would leave. It was inevitable. Now that the seal had been broken, she would finally be free to roam as she pleased, driven by her thirst for purpose. And he? He would simply wait. Wait with monstrous patience.
"I won't let this opportunity slip away… When she's out there, distracted by her delusions of power and glory, I'll take everything. The entire Realm of the Dead will be mine. I will be king."
With a sinuous motion, Uriel coiled his long tail around himself, like a serpent about to sleep — or strike. His wings, vast as veils of shadow, stretched and wrapped around him like a dark cocoon, muffling the echoes of the world around him. Then, his single eye slowly closed, leaving only silence and the glint of a cruel smile on his lips. An animalistic smile, lined with teeth sharp as the fangs of an ancient predator.
He was excited. And that was dangerous.
Ainz bowed respectfully to the order, saying nothing. He turned on his heels and walked away in silence, vanishing into the snow. Eskandor, however, hesitated. He stood still for a moment, his eyes fixed on Uriel. There was something he wanted to say — perhaps a warning, perhaps a silent plea. But in the end, he remained quiet. He merely bowed briefly and followed Ainz, disappearing into the snow as well.
Uriel remained unmoved. The snow around him pulsed with a strange energy — as if the ground itself breathed beneath him, with long, slow, heavy heartbeats. He felt the heart of the Realm of the Dead beating, and each pulse seemed to announce that the moment was near.
He curled up with monstrous elegance, like a predator lying in wait, his body folded and wrapped around itself. Nothing moved except his thoughts — alive, burning, sharp as blades.
"She will emerge… I know she will. She wants to touch the world again. To rise above the gods who ignored her, who feared her, who locked her away."
His thoughts became clearer, more dangerous. Every unspoken word built an empire in his mind.
"But while she is gone… I will take the throne. The Realm of the Dead will be mine. And she… won't even realize it. Not until it's too late."
The smile returned to his lips, crueler than before. A glint of malice flickered, even beneath the darkness. His single eye closed, but his mind did not rest. Inside, black gears turned, older than time itself, driven by hunger, patience, and ambition.
And outside… the world began to feel the first whispers of change.
In the frozen north, the blizzards suddenly ceased — the wind frozen as if time itself had held its breath. In forgotten deserts, soulless corpses began to rise, empty-eyed, staggering, walking like shadows without destination. In ancient temples, covered in dust and legend, priests with eyes turned inward began to murmur prayers long since silenced. Words even the gods had forgotten.
But what was most alarming was happening in the heart of the Realm of the Dead.
Colossal gates, sealed since the Era of the Dawn, trembled in their ancient sockets. Chains bathed in sacred light began to groan as if protesting what was to come. And the faceless guardians — living statues that watched over the passages between worlds — took a step back. Something was approaching. Something even they could not stop.
Hela.
She walked with relentless slowness through a corridor carved in bone and shadow. Each of her steps made no sound, only a deep void, as if the world held its breath. Her eyes, icy and impenetrable, did not look back — the past no longer mattered. What guided her was the future. An entire world awaited her. An opportunity. A vengeance. A throne.
And she would take it. Even if it meant destroying gods, defiling stars, and tearing the veils between worlds.
But what she didn't know — what no one knew — was that in the shadows she left behind, something older than death itself was preparing.
Uriel.
A monster with the patience of centuries. A wolf with long fangs and a silent gaze. A creature that had learned to wait… and to strike at the perfect moment.